


Heat

by tsv



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:49:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6570391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsv/pseuds/tsv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He is all bulk and wide angles, dark skin and blond hair and eyes such a fierce blue that you'd think you were looking into the ocean. The husky rumble of his voice sends shivers down your spine the first time you hear it, and you are <i>so</i> thankful to hear it in the context of him offering to buy you a drink."</p><p>Brock/Reader, with details about the reader such as anatomy or gender left ambiguous. Written for the Venture Bros Kink Meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Venture Bros kink meme](http://ladyofdecember.livejournal.com/3205.html), which could use your prompts and fills!
> 
> My first time doing anything involving a reader-insert. Let me know what you think!

You meet as strangers in a bar. An unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people, but despite his standoffish demeanor, something about him invites you in.

He is all bulk and wide angles, dark skin and blond hair and eyes such a fierce blue that you'd think you were looking into the ocean. The husky rumble of his voice sends shivers down your spine the first time you hear it, and you are _so_ thankful to hear it in the context of him offering to buy you a drink.

You quickly learn two things about him, and not much else. One, he drinks whiskey sours: two, his name is Brock, or so he says. He isn't much for talking, and it isn't the first time you've been given a fake name, especially considering the air of mystery that he seems to effortlessly project. In any case, though, the name fits — blunt and strong, like the man himself.

Listening seems to be more his forte. 'Brock' politely listens as you talk about yourself, your life, your hobbies, and before long you realize you've been rambling. He is easy to talk to. He shrugs off the apology, and seems to realize that he hasn't been keeping up his end of the conversation, so he divulges another fact or two.

He's in town for business. Just for the night. Says his boss dragged him here on a wild goose chase. You're tempted to ask exactly what line of business he's in, but you don't feel confident you'd get a truthful answer.

Instead, you offer to take this conversation somewhere else. Your home.

He accepts your generous offer, of course.

The walk to your door is a long one, full of anticipation. You can't stop sneaking glances at the outlines of his muscles, barely disguised by a thin layer of black t-shirt. You're pretty sure he's noticed, judging by the smirk.

And as soon as you're past the threshold, Brock's palms are wrapping around your hips and lifting you up to match his colossal height, pressing hot, eager kisses to your mouth that you are all too eager to reciprocate as your back hits the wall. His hair is soft in your hands. Playing with it elicits something like a growl from deep in his throat, and you're _fairly_ certain that was a good sound. He doesn't stop you, in any case.

So you grab more firmly, and tug. That earns a low moan, a sound that stirs something hungry and wanting in you. You wrap your legs around him to anchor yourself, and in response his calloused fingers deftly search under your clothes, sliding over warm skin, undressing you with a startlingly practiced quickness.

By the time you make your way to the bedroom, his t-shirt is gone, your own top and pants fallen somewhere by the wayside. And when you fall back onto the bed and Brock climbs on top of you, his jeans are undone, his obvious erection straining against the fabric.

He kisses you again, this time _slowly_ , deliberately. His hands roam over your body, your chest, your hips, the waistband of your underwear, almost worshipping. You are so bold as to cup him through unzipped pant and boxer brief, surprised to find him _much_ larger than you'd anticipated.

And suddenly, you're second-guessing yourself. He's so _big_ , in more ways than one, that you consider for a moment that fucking him could mean he might somehow break you in the process. But the heat of his mouth is so careful on your own, and his touch is anything but clumsy. It is calculated. Again, practiced.

You realize that he's very good at making you feel _safe_. And whatever risk there is, you're suddenly very comfortable with taking it.

The rest of the clothes between you are shucked off, leaving an expanse of tan muscle above you, two lustful blue eyes combing over your body. He's already rock hard just looking at you, his impressive cock hanging between his muscular thighs.

His fingers spread you out, first. Nice and slow, two thick digits pressing and curling inside of you. Those already feel big in their own right, leaving you squirming and pushing down against him.

You can tell from the heaviness of his breathing that he's eager. But still, he goes slow. He takes his time. He doesn't draw out and enter you, lubricated condom spread over his broad erection, until he's absolutely sure you're ready, quietly asking you beforehand.

And when he does finally fuck you, spreading you open on him, it is tender, careful, sensual. Brock is so many things at once but one of those things is _tremendous_ strength, and it makes you appreciate the fine control that goes into every touch, the delicate stroking of your cheek from a hand that could crush bone.

But when you tell him to go faster, he isn't afraid to take your word for it. He picks up his pace, the firmness of his thrusts, fucking into you again and again. Everything is a world of heat and sensitive nerves, and you feel _too_ tight, but that doesn't stop you from taking everything he gives you.

It feels like it lasts forever. Just him and you and the cool sheets under your skin, the intimacy of another person's body heat, the feeling of being fucked fast and hard. Hell, you _wish_ it could last forever, when it feels this good. You're vaguely aware that your thighs are trembling, his hands squeezing your hips as he pushes in and out.

But everything comes to an end eventually. Your climax comes to you as fast and hot and intense as the rest of it, rolling forward onto his thick shaft with wave after wave of pleasure, left shuddering with sensitivity once it's through.

You have the feeling Brock could go longer if he needed to, but he easily finishes not long after you, voice hitching as he pants and grunts loudly with every thrust. He finally rocks forward with a few final, uneven movements, letting out a deep groan, eyes squeezing shut. You can see his arms shaking.

And then it's over. The disappointment is _almost_ enough to override the content, fuzzy feeling in your brain. After a few moments of him gaining his bearings, he pulls out, ties off the condom, and carefully tosses it into the trash.

He's polite enough to fetch a towel afterwards, which you gratefully accept.

"Care if I smoke?" He asks, pulling a pack and a lighter out of the pocket of his discarded jeans. You shake your head, so he sits on the edge of the mattress and lights a cigarette, the faint smell of nicotine filling the room.

And so you lay like that for a while, watching him, admiring him. The angles of his face, the curve of his spine, his strong shoulders and calloused fingers. The way his still-sweaty skin glistens in the faint light. Some part of you thinks that he is, in a word, _beautiful_. Like a classical statue in a museum.

You give him your number. Tell him he's welcome to stay any time he's in the vicinity. You're even so bold as to offer him lunch. But from the faint smile you get in return, you already know you'll likely never see him again after tonight. Either he doesn't stay in one place for too long, doesn't like getting attached, or both.

Still, you're glad to have had the opportunity for tonight, however brief. And when he's gone in the morning, as quickly as he came, you can't say you're not satisfied.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I intensely value any feedback, please leave a comment below!


End file.
